Angels and Demons
by Stephyblue
Summary: When Quinn comes face to face with a groundbreaking religious discovery, it sets off a chain reaction that plunges her into a supernatural battle between good and evil, culminating in a little bit of angelic assistance from Rachel Berry.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I can already see while stories are going to take the vote. I figured I'd do the top 3 since they are all partially written. :) **

**So - here is your #1 pick, Angels and Demons. Enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**Simple beginnings**

"Quinn Fabray?"

I look up from my test, utterly confused as to why my name has been spoken. I forget everything about the essay I'm supposed to be writing and it's pedantic topic, as I focus on my theology professor.

For a split second I worry he thought I was cheating. "Yeah?"

"Can I speak with you for a moment after class?"

Someone in the back of the class oohs like I'm in trouble, and I really hope like hell I'm not. I've never cheated in my life.

"Sure." I force, and look back over my shoulder after answering, but I can't identify the person who jeered me. Everyone has their head down, so I focus once again on the photocopied lines in front of me. I know I'm supposed to fill them up, I'm supposed to explain the great mysteries of God and the Devil. Something as important as that, deserves better words than from someone like me, but I try anyway.

I find it funny I can articulate anything to be honest. I don't even know how to explain the conflict within myself half the time. So how I'm supposed to run commentary on the greatest ideological conflict ever held is beyond me. I sigh, getting back to it.

Twenty minutes and one meager attempt later, I'm outside the classroom door in a bustling hallway. I go to Yale, it's an Ivy League school, which basically means if I pass my classes I'm assured a decent football game and a high power job on the other side. Don't get me wrong, I know I'm blessed to be here, that I'm lucky to be stacking myself in student loan debt to subsidize my scholarships. It just leaves me hollow. I'm conflicted because I only had one goal in coming here really - to escape my provincial existence in Lima.

Now, that thought leaves me empty as i learn more about life and my role in it. My education is doing exactly what is supposed to do, broadening my horizons and giving me more to think about than I ever thought possible.

When the last student filters out of Theology 103, the teacher closes the door and then looks at me. I mean, he just looks at me like he is trying to read into the thoughts I was just having. I don't understand it in the slightest. "I need to pick your brain for a moment, Miss Fabray. Follow me."

When he starts off in the direction of what I assume is his office, it takes me a minute to catch up. It isn't because I'm short, I'm average in height, it is because he is just that fast. I didn't expect that kind of speed from a man older than dirt.

When I had first heard of Doctor Richard Schweiger, I had naturally assumed he would be a jerk. I have found that most people with a doctor in front of their name - are. Not to say that all people are, just most. I was pleasantly surprised that he wasn't. He was old, older than the old testament we talked about in my first class with him. He had bushy white hair that seemed to always be combed haphazardly and big white eyebrows that waved when he spoke. I liked him well enough, but when he opened his mouth - I fell in love.

Not in a romantic way, but in an emotional way because of the beauty and majesty in his words. It's very rare that the things people say move me.

He brought to life ideas and stories long dead, and I loved him for it. Perhaps I didn't love him for the conflict it created in me, but i loved the challenge of twisting my mind around the world's great mysteries.

Hence I just completed my midterm in Theology 103. Which obviously means I took not one, but three semesters with this masterful storyteller.

At Dr. Schweiger's office I drop lightly into one of his worn leather chairs as he racks his desk seat across from me. His fingers steepled, he looks at me again. I'm about to ask him for an explanation, when he cuts me off with his own words. "Class anytime soon?"

"No."

"Good." he smiles then between his fingers before dropping a hand and nudging something toward me, I don't know what it is as it slides over the other papers on his desk. I pick it up.

I'm holding the image and I still don't know what it is. It's a picture of - something. An engraved stone maybe. I roll my eyes over the image again and again. "I don't know what this is."

"Myself either."

I glance up at him, at his expectant gaze. "What did you want to pick my brain about?"

He shrugs, his old brows knitting together until it looks like a halo of clouds hovering above blue eyes. "You're very introspective. I wanted your take on this."

I look back down, confused. "I have no idea what it is."

"But what do you _think_ it could be?"

I blink a few times. I don't have a clue. It could be a two million year old tablet that says aliens came to earth before man was ever here, or a ten day old clay casting of the local movie theater's listing of shows for all I know. I let my eyes scroll over the symbols. Snake looking things, cuneiform looking things, Hebrew looking things - wait. "The shorter rows indent to the right."

No. I turn it upside down and then rotate it back because it feels wrong.

"Go on."

"It's written like Hebrew I think, read right to left instead of left to right."

It's funny how when I think of Hebrew text, I think of her. My old friend Rachel. I think she might have been the first Jew I ever met. I haven't seen her in a long time.

I glance up and the firm lipped gaze across from me. I hope he isn't reading into my thoughts on the subject of her. It takes conflict to a new and grandiose level.

"Go on." he urges yet again, but there is no smile in his excessively animated face. It is the most serene I have ever seen him. It bothers me, and I don't know why.

When I lower my eyes to the image again, I swear it feels like its moving, like the letters and symbols are writhing. I hold the paper more steady. "It feels like it is some hybrid of languages, maybe ancient ones. I don't know, it's all very confusing. What can I tell you that you don't already know?" I chuckle dryly to ease the tension. "You're the teacher, you know?"

I set the page down.

When I do, the afternoon sunlight hits it, masking most of the inked image. I see something though, two symbols that just about make my heart stop. "Doctor Schweiger?"

"Hmm?" he is looking at me as I lean closer to the image and put my fingers just below the two symbols.

"Mal'ach. It says Mal'ach - sort of." it says Angel in Hebrew. It's crude but it's there.

"Angels." he says the word so close to me I feel his breath travel through my loose strands of hair. "It looks very much like the Hebrew word for Angels, yes."

I nod my head. I learned that from Rachel too, Hebrew. Little words here and there when we spoke. She had once told me about Angels in the Jewish faith, and that they were messengers from God. I puzzle at the inscriptions before me. When she had wrote it, the word Mal'ach - it had been different.

"Dr. Schweiger, it's different though, than the regular word. More simple, maybe?"

"Yes, more simplistic, perhaps this writing predates Hebrew?"

I don't understand what he means until I realize he means that this language gave birth to Hebrew because it is less complex. "Wait, what?"

He narrows his mirthless eyes at me. "I want to tell you a story."

I sober, because though I normally love his stories, I'm worried about this one.

* * *

I lay in my bathtub as the night stretches on. Knees out because I'm too tall for the tiny tub in my studio apartment, I submerge enough of my head to plug my ears. I float, letting the tension drain from me as I recount Dr. Schweiger's story.

He told me there is a society of Theologists that believe all religions stem from one. It is the unified theory, similar to the unified theory of everything that physicists have attempted to prove for the last twenty years. From one God, everything has come to all of us. This theory is based off the recurring themes spread throughout all religious practice.

To state it simply, various religious dogma is more like parts of the same song, and less like different pieces of music. What we believe is the same and interconnected, not disjointed.

At the musical simile, I think of Rachel again. Her image burns on the inside of my mind. It's happens a lot. More than I'm comfortable with to be honest. We graduated, went our own ways - me to Yale, her to NYADA. Always with the promise to see one another. Promises that never come to fruition because she is too busy following her dreams of Broadway stardom and I'm too busy listing through life trying to figure out what to do.

And trying to figure out how to feel about the brown haired and chestnut eyed siren.

I slosh the water around, unable to hear anything other than the dull thud of my head against the faux ceramic basin. I wish I could just knock her out of my mind.

Getting back to Dr. Schweiger though, he believes the picture of the tablet, sent by a friend, is undeniable proof of a unified religion. A codex that speaks to all people and sects of beliefs. It is the filter through which all truth can be seen and a path to peace for the world.

I sit up, hearing the great whoosh of water as my ears clear. I shiver, cold. It's always cold here. It's psychological no doubt because I keep the thermostat quite high. Just another remnant of loneliness and confusion as I stumble my way through a life I don't understand.

I close my eyes and remember the tablet, remember the symbols. It both bothers and elates me that he picked me to share something that monumental with. I don't feel worthy of such a gift because I'm just me. Maybe at one time in my life when I was beautiful and popular and _new_, then I would have been worthy of such a gift. But I'm not holy anymore, not righteous, I'm a dirty little secret hoarder.

I'm half dried when my phone rings. I don't know why I answer it, whoever it is can wait for me to get dressed . I pick it up just the same though, "hello?"

"Hello Quinn."

I recognize the voice instantly, and my breath falters. "Rachel, how are you?" I hurriedly smooth my hair around, like she can see me.

"I'm well, how are you?"

I wrap my towel around me, unable to move from where I am. "I'm fine, tired." I am suddenly exhausted, as if just saying so tore all the will right out of me.

"I'm sorry to hear that." the line is silent for long enough to make me uncomfortable.

"So," I prompt words out of her mouth.

"Did everything end amicably between us?" It's a question shot out of the dark and I have no idea how to respond. I think it did. We were friends, we had bus passes to visit one another. It is rather uncanny that she asks that question on the back of a day where my thoughts couldn't stop drifting to her.

"Why do you ask?"

"I wanted to come see you. And I wanted to be certain you would be happy to see me."

I swallow brokenly. "Did you think that because we never visited I was mad at you?" She doesn't answer. "I was never mad at you, we were just busy."

"Okay. I look forward to seeing you soon."

I stare at the phone long after she disconnects the line. It rattles in my hand as I squeeze it over and over, feeling it but not really seeing it. Its been nearly a year since we have seen one another, and she sounds completely different. I wonder who I will open the door to when she arrives.

I hang on thoughts of Rachel as I get dressed in the dark and fumble for the latch on my balcony door. I snap it in my fingers and slide it open. It's cold outside, and it feels good against my skin as I sit on my cheap stool. I stare across the parking lot of my apartment complex, stare at the dark shadows until I reach down and fumble for a cigarette.

I light it, blowing a plume of gray smoke out into the air. I watch it churn and swirl, waft and drift until it vanishes. I know I shouldn't be smoking again, but there isn't anything that calms me as much as this. I tried Yoga, tried massages, tried breathing techniques. I tried sex too, but yeah - well, that just made me want to smoke more.

So I smoke, because it's probably healthier than fooling around with random people.

I flick ash beside me, as Rachel once again superimposes on my mind. It is a tortuous attraction I have for her. One that I didn't realize existed until she was so far out of my life that I couldn't see her anymore. It is part of what makes seeing her bittersweet like a glass of wine. I know she doesn't feel the same, but it doesn't stop me from wishing she did, yearning for her to. It doesn't stop me from wanting to see her and pretend just for a moment that she does care for me.

I sigh and ruffle the wet strands of my hair. I'll see her again soon and we will run around and play as friends. And a visit will pass where she won't know how I feel.

I flick my cigarette off the balcony into the planter below. I watch it arc, watch it fall, until my eyes land of a figure watching me. I lick my lips, unmoving in the darkness. The light in the parking lot flickers and then goes out. I don't take my eyes off him, he isn't close, just far enough away that I can't make out the detail of his face. It unsettles me. I can tell he is looking at me though, his head is tilted just enough that I _know_ he is looking right at me.

I swallow, "freak."

I force it out, loud enough that I know he heard. It takes everything I have to get up and go inside. I hurriedly lock the sliding glass door behind me, and through the slats in the blinds I can see he hasn't moved. He is still looking up at me.

When I hurry into bed I turn out all the lights and put my back toward the balcony. I pull the blankets up, when I swear I can hear footsteps on the wood outside. There is no way anyone could get up there, but I hear it anyway. I pretend it doesn't scare me, that if I don't turn around nothing can hurt me. I focus on that, on my invulnerability under the blankets, until I no longer hear the tapping of shoes outside, and sleep claims me.

* * *

I'm tucked into my desk in Theology 103 when I get the news. I'm staring at the clock, at the minute hand well past my ten o'clock start time. When the door opens, I'm expecting to see Doctor Schweiger, but instead a TA bustles in and takes center stage. The class falls silent one voice at a time.

"Good morning class. It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that Theology has been suspended because Doctor Schweiger passed away last night."

"Whoa, was he sick?" Someone yells out, and the murmur around the room unsettles me even more as I grip the edge of my desk.

"I can't go into details, but we ask that you pray for his family and their healing. It is all so sudden and tragic."

I lick my lips of the dryness as they crack. When the door opens again, and light blinds me, the uniformed officers make everyone fall silent. "Detectives Casey and Moran would like to ask a few questions of you. Thank you for your cooperation during this very difficult time."

I glance around, and the guy in the desk next to me catches my eyes. He leans toward me. "You were close to him, did you know he was sick?"

I shake my head. "No, we were looking over stuff in his office on Tuesday and he seemed fine."

Another student leans down and into our conversation, "you guys, there are cops here. Which means either he was killed or he killed himself."

A chill runs up my spine as I remember the tapping on my balcony the night before and the faceless man that stared at me.

"Tony Brandenson and Quinn Fabray?" I swallow as the officer gestures for me. "You two first and then you are free to go. It will only to a minute to get this wrapped up."

In deference to the words, I can't help but feel that this is just the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So glad you are enjoying. Here ya go, a little more. :)

Also, I had a thought - would anyone be interested in doing this as a "choose your own adventure" type story? I can give you a few options to pick and you can decide what happens. I've never done it before and I don't know how it would work, but we could try if you want. :) let me know.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**Seeing is Believing**

Rebecca Schweiger, Doctor Schweiger's granddaughter, is as white as a sheet when I run into her at the supermarket. She has always been pale and withdrawn, the polar opposite of my mentor, but now it is even more profound. I almost don't want to say anything, for fear of what I'll hear her say.

No such luck though, because as soon as I think it, she sees me. "Becca?" I clear my throat when she turns to me. "Hey."

She abandons the bunch of vegetables she was looking at and practically rushes into my arms. I imagine any friendly face would make me feel like that too. "Oh God, Quinn." she buries her face in my shoulder. "I'm sure you heard. It's all so terrible."

"Yeah. I did. I'm so sorry."

"It's horrible. It's so horrible. The police keep asking us if he had any enemies." She pulls back and wipes at the tears on her cheek, "why would anyone do that to grandpa? He never hurt anyone."

It's like watching a train wreck happen - knowing that I'm going to open my mouth and ask for specifics, but not wanting to.

"What happened, Becca?"

She blinks blankly, like she's trying to wipe the image from her mind. "Grandpa was staying with us while he was teaching this semester, he did that sometimes so he didn't have to drive as far." She wipes at more unfallen tears. "I just remember my mother screaming. It's that sound, you know - that scream where you just know everything is completely fucked. I ran downstairs and I found her with grandpa on the floor. He was all blue," she gestures over her face, "but he didn't have a shirt on and he had cut himself, all over his chest. Or at least that is what we thought, but there wasn't a knife anywhere."

I swallow hard on the bile rising in my throat from the images.

"We called the police. And now today they are saying it was very similar to another person who had been killed in Portland. A photographer. I didn't recognize the guy's name, but they think the killer is someone they both knew."

"What did the photographer take pictures of?" I literally see the image of the tablet in my mind as I ask the question.

"I don't know. I didn't know that grandpa knew anyone in Portland." She laughs then, bitterly. "I mean, I suppose that is stupid of me since he has traveled all over and knows people everywhere." Her eyes darken as tears force their way into them, "knew - knew people everywhere."

I can't answer her, I'm too overwhelmed by my own horrible thoughts to adequately support her. Like a broken record I keep going back to the image of the picture in his office and then the parking lot outside my home with the man watching me. It seems to go on forever, the repeat of those images, until when Becca speaks, I flinch.

"Anyway, it was good to see you. It helps, you know? I'm supposed to be keeping it together for my mom, but Jesus, I don't know, you know?"

I can't even imagine it, but I say stupid things anyway. "I know."

She shakes her head. "I'll see you later Quinn." Becca gives me a final squeeze. I watch her go, watch as she gets past the row of vegetables and the big bins of fruit. She's almost to the bread aisle when she stops.

I don't know why it is I'm still looking at her, why I'm being creepy and staring, but when she turns back to me her face is vacant and hollow. It's almost like her face, and I can't really explain it, but - it's like a face that had never seen emotion before.

I hear myself ask very softly, "you okay?" She's too far away to actually hear me, but I say it anyway because I don't know what else to do.

She doesn't move, she just stares at me with the most empty eyes I've ever seen. And as the hair on the back of my neck rises, I back my cart down the aisle and head to the check out as quickly as I can.

I stare in my rearview mirror the whole drive home, petrified that the next time that I look, Becca or the faceless man will be chasing behind my car. Seriously, I've watched too many movies.

Every red light goes on forever, and no amount of music from the stereo can make it tolerable. It doesn't matter if the sun is out, and if it is a perfectly beautiful day. No amount of crystal clear sky will be able to warm the cold I feel through my whole body.

When I pull into the parking lot, I set the brake and stare blankly at the place where the man had been watching me. It doesn't look as terrifying as it did that night and I draw strength from that realization. The bushes flanking the concrete space he stood on have flowers on them, big pink bunches of buds that wave in the breeze. How can anything so benign, be so bad?

I sigh and gather my groceries in hand, dragging them with me toward my apartment.

A group of children run past me, laughing as they fire squirt guns at one another. I watch them round the corner of the outside stairwell and disappear in a flurry of footfalls and excited screams. In the distance, I can hear the steady beat of another college kid's music. I keep pace with the bass as I make my way upward, soaking in the normalcy of it.

I key the door open with a shaken hand, and lock the door behind me. It's dark inside, normally I keep the shades open, but for the past four days - since my night stalker incident, I've kept them closed. I flip on a light instead.

I unpack everything from the bags save my pint of cherry ice cream. Spoon in hand I make my way over to the sofa. It squeaks when I drop into it heavily, probably the universe's way of telling me to lay off the ice cream. I laugh in the hazy dark of my home and start eating it anyway as I flip on the television and press away the thoughts rattling around in my mind.

I don't know what wakes me, but I feel the distinctive twist that something's wrong. I bolt up from my place on the sofa as flashes of the television shoot color over the room. I look around and practically scream when I see Rachel sitting in the loveseat beside the sofa.

"What the hell, Rachel? What time is it?"

She smiles at me, unassumingly, pulling her phone up to illuminate her face. "Nine." She sets it back down on the cushion beside her. "I didn't want to wake you. You left your door unlocked and I didn't want to stand around outside any longer. I think you've been asleep a few hours."

I have my hand in my hair and I blink repeatedly trying to process her words. "God, I must have been really tired." Its very unlike me to not lock the door; I swear to God I did. Shakily, I reach out for the phone on my coffee table and read the face of it. Four missed calls. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I put the ice cream away before it melted completely. Sorry I scared you."

I wave her off, more discombobulated over her seeing me so out of sorts than by her coming in unannounced. In truth, I wish she came and went like that in my life all the time.

Her eyes are on me, dark, cataloging. It seems to be the new thing for people to do to me. I don't think I like the idea of being read, not like this. I'm staring back at her and that is when I get the first chance to actually see Rachel Berry.

It's her same eyes, same hair. However that is where the similarities end. Where once she wore very obnoxious clothing, redeemed only by how short her skirts were, she now fills up my vision with a fitted suit and high heels. I take a very long guilty moment to roll my eyes from her pumps, all the way up a charcoal pinstriped leg, to a casually unbuttoned jacket. And under the jacket, I think my brain explodes at seeing a white silk shirt intentionally button-popped to the point where it could _almost_ be indecent.

I think my throat clenches closed so tightly I make a funny little wheezing sound. Her eyes are brooding and twinkling at me even after I just literally checked her out in a very blatant kind of way. I avert my gaze, "sorry." I shake my head. "You look really different."

"Bad different?" She asks softly and I can see her cross and recross her legs in the periphery of my vision.

Yeah, not at all. It certainly isn't a bad different. It is a _stolen from one of my secret fantasies _different.

"No, just different." When I turn back to her, she is chewing her lip in thought. It's very cute looking. "What are you thinking?"

"I like your place." She looks over her shoulder, eyeing my peanut sized studio. I know she is just being nice. Her parents pay for her massive flat in New York, so there is nothing about my place that is even close to being complementary in comparison.

"How is the Big Apple treating you?"

She shrugs lightly, "good."

Now that I'm a little more awake I realize what a terrible host I'm being. "Rachel, I'm really sorry. I've been out of it for a few days. Things are all sorts of messed up around here. Can I get you something to drink or eat?"

She nods, "sure. Anything to drink will be fine." When I stand and pass her she reaches out a hand and catches my wrist. It stops me in my tracks and almost caves my knees. My eyes are glued to where her fingers are wrapped around the bone of my wrist.

When I can finally meet her gaze she is frowning, "can you tell me what's going on?" She prompts. Rachel's fingers buzz over the back of my hand then, feather light and sweet. "I think sometimes it's better to share than not."

I can't get words out of my mouth. Everything literally piles up somewhere behind my tonsils and chokes me silent. I nod instead and continue on my path to get her something to drink. When I pull free a Diet Pepsi, the one drink she always _did_ like, my hands are shaking so badly I'm lucky to get half the can in the glass. I can still feel where she was holding me and I stare at the place on my wrist remembering it.

I hear the rustle of her clothing and when I turn to look, she is slipping out of her jacket. It lands perfectly over the back of the loveseat. How I'm supposed to have a conversation with her in that outfit with those buttons just _daring _me to stare at them, I have no idea. It's cruel and unusual punishment.

She is a very mean little Miss Berry.

"Your drink." I announce, less for her and more for me to break the tension. She takes it, sipping lightly from the glass. "Hope you still like Diet Pepsi."

She smacks her lips. "Yeah." She narrows her eyes as she takes another pull from the glass. "Yes, I do. So, tell me, what's going on?"

"I don't really know."

Rachel cocks her head at me, which looks really funny since she is holding a frosty cup in her hand not inches from her mouth. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

I cradle my head in my hand after resuming my place on the sofa. "It's just that, I don't know. I think I'm just acting super paranoid." I roll my eyes. "Have you ever just had that feeling that something really terrible is happening?"

"Yeah, I have. What kind of terrible something is happening though?" She licks her lips in the low light. "I mean, what's bringing these feelings up?"

"My teacher was murdered and I feel like I might be next."

Okay, so I didn't mean to make it sound _quite _so woeful and melodramatic. I honestly just meant to convey how overwhelmingly overwhelmed I am with all the thoughts going around my head. But Rachel takes the queue and sets her glass down. When she slides onto the sofa beside me, her hair tumbling dark and radiant over her arm and that smile on her face, I'm almost glad I sounded as weak as I did a moment ago.

Abandoning her shoes she eases to her knees so close to me, I feel like I should move over. I feel like I need to give her space, or give me space so that I can breathe.

I can't see anything other than the electric blue of the television as it highlights all the dripping shadows and angles of her body. When she moves even closer and her hand traces over my shoulder, I almost don't understand her words when she says them. "What do you mean, Quinn?"

I open my mouth to answer, but I pant out a breath instead. It's embarrassing. "What are you doing Rachel?"

"Comforting you."

"What?"

"Isn't this something you want?" Her eyes bounce back and forth over mine as her knees press lightly into my hip and thigh. "Don't tell me I'm the only one who has thought about this."

What were we talking about?

"Umm, I-I have, but I'm just surprised." I swallow hard on the heaving image before me. God, if she takes a deeper breath her shirt might pop. "I didn't expect you to come on this strong."

I must be an idiot. Right when I say it, she blinks and eases back as if she has tread on something she shouldn't have. It's almost like she has control of herself again, and though I'm able to function, I almost wish she would have killed me with a kiss before I could sabotage myself with stupid words.

"I'm sorry." Rachel smiles lightly, pulling back until she is on her end of the sofa. "I just assumed that given that I like you and you like me we could have found some comfort in eachother. Especially since you just said _that_."

I nod. I'm sure I could have found a lot more than comfort in that incendiary look. "Don't be sorry. I do like you, a lot. Things are just weird right now, so ignore me and the stupid things I'm saying. My teacher was killed, and I think he was killed the same way as another guy that took a picture of this tablet."

I shake my head. "This is going to sound crazy, but I saw the picture and I'm scared that because I saw it someone is going to get me too. And there was a guy outside a few nights ago staring at me. It was probably nothing, but I'm all freaked out over it."

Rachel smiles lightly. "I'm glad I came then."

"I'm glad you did too. I haven't been sleeping."

She smiles broadly, teasingly. "So, do I get the honor of safeguarding you while you sleep tonight?"

I makes me laugh. "I suppose."

"Can I change?"

I feel my eyebrow arch at her, because I'm not sure if she is asking me if she can or where she should. "Sure, you can use my bathroom." I point to the dark open doorway behind me.

Her motions are elegant as she sweeps her overnight bag up in her hands and makes her way to the bathroom. I follow her until she flicks the light on and gives me a look over her shoulder as she seals me away.

As soon as she is out of view I dive for my dresser and change into my pajamas as fast as I can. I tie my hair up with a ponytail holder I always have sitting near my bed. I'm not sure if I should be sitting on my bed when she comes out, or if I should be over by the television. Does it seem a little too presumptuous for me to be waiting in bed for her?

Is that any _less _presumptuous than the exchange we just had?

Instead of having some well laid out plan, executed to a 'T', when she comes out of the bathroom I'm standing in the middle of the room still trying to figure out what to do. I stare at her shadowed form bewildered.

She yawns, ruffling her hair and then smoothing it into a wave of darkness. I didn't think she got any hotter than when she was in a suit, but I'll take pajama Rachel over any other Rachel variant any day.

"Tired?"

"Always." She drops her bag lightly outside the bathroom door.

"Wanna head to bed? We can talk more tomorrow. I also have this neat little place I found where you can get all sorts of old records and musical stuff." I keep babbling because she's walking toward me. "We can go walk around and chat, I could use some normal, you know?"

"Yeah."

I crawl across the bed and turn down the side I don't sleep on; however, as I slide back to my feet I feel the solid warmth of her behind me. My eyes flutter closed as I soak in it for the split second I can, because I know any moment she is going to pull away.

But she doesn't pull away.

When I can finally turn around, I sit on the edge of the bed and just stare at the wispy white cotton that hangs from her. It is so angelic and flirty, clinging and tumbling over the generous sloping curves of her figure.

I can't help but wonder if she is trying to kill me with her angelic little image and the devilish thoughts it inspires.

"Sorry, did you mind that?"

My mouth is open, but it takes forever for sound to make it out of my throat. I'm pretty sure everything is blocked by my _whore_mones. And yes, I do mean whore.

"God, you felt really good." I whisper it and am rewarded with Rachel pulling closer. Close enough that I can lean my head against her stomach. She runs a confident hand through my hair and slides my ponytail free. I soak in the warmth of her radiating against my cheek.

"Can I ask you something?"

I nod against her tummy, wrapping hesitant and loose arms around her hips.

"That picture that you saw. Do you remember it?"

I glance up at her. Rachel's brows are furrowed, and she frowns at me.

"Yeah. I remember it."

She sighs lightly at me, troubled.

"What?"

Rachel shakes her head, drawing a very long slow breath before answering. "I suppose if people are being killed over this thing, then it's worth remembering."

I scoff loudly, "Way to calm me down before going to bed."

Rachel laughs, I hear it resonate in her chest. "You are perfectly safe, I promise."

"How is that?"

"I promise I'll protect you. I care too much to let anything happen to you."

It makes my head swim and as she kneels down face to face with me, I can feel her narrowing before I whisper my plea a breath from her lips.

"Prove it."

And she seals her pledge with a kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**The Other Side of the Coin**

I'm embarrassed to say that I think Rachel hit her stride at about two in the morning, which was about the time I was all out of liquid and energy to comply with her wishes. Even now, I can hear her rummaging around in the kitchen and I can't even move from my place in the middle of the bed. Call me a quitter, but I think she might have broken me.

It's the best broken I have ever felt in my life.

"Quinn?"

I clear my throat as I stare up at the ceiling, willing my way into a sitting position because really my arms are so sore I can't even hold myself up. "Yeah?"

"Eggs?"

"Aren't you a vegan?"

When the bed shifts and a very naked, very alluring Rachel pours herself over me, I give up my line of questioning and settle on exploring her lips with mine. Despite my arms being sore, I still manage tangling my hands in her hair and jerking her down onto me until air can't even pass between us.

"You... taste... amazing." I interject between kisses and then use my tongue to path a line down her throat.

She makes a sound so carnal, I think she's a wild little animal, _my_ wild little animal. Oh, how just dirty and hot that is. I'm sucking on her neck, hands tracing down her back, when she shifts off me and backs out of reaching distance.

I smile at her, at the way she chews her lips and grins. "Come back here." I purr, tracing the blankets between us. "I have something I want to show you."

She giggles. "I have something I want to show you too." She winks and points over my shoulder. When I roll over, I see the faceless man sitting at my kitchen table.

It can't be real.

My blood freezes in my veins and I sit up enough to see Rachel is gone. It's just me, naked in bed, and the faceless man.

_Interesting._ It's a voice, not quite male and human, but obviously representative of both. It grates on my nerve endings as I tremble in my place. _What on earth were you going to show her?_

I can't answer.

_Oh._ I swear I hear a smirk. _That._ He laughs. _When I'm done here you can go back to showing her that if you would like._

That is when I can finally speak. "What did you do to her?"

_Nothing._

"Where did she go?"

_She was never here, but she could be._ He leans forward then, resting suited elbows on matching pant legs. _Let's cut to the chase shall we? You want this girl, I can get her for you. I just need you to do one thing for me. Write down the glyphs you saw on the image, that's all._

I lick my lips, searching around the room for a weapon, for anything to defend myself.

_There is nothing here. _He growls. _It is just you and me, and an offer is on the table._

I flick my eyes back to him as I tighten the blanket around me. "Why would I help you?"

Again he laughs and with a wave of his hand, I can feel weight press onto my legs right before Rachel materializes in all her naked glory over me. "It's not real." I go to push her off, but my arms feel anchored to the mattress.

_What would make it more real? _He questions. _Emotion?_

Rachel shifts, pressing her forehead to mine, her hand sweeping through my hair. She kisses the tip of my nose, delicately.

I can't breath because I'm smothered by the scent and feel of her. _Oh, silly me. Was the passion last night not enough? Is that emotion not enough? How about love?_

I slam my eyes shut as Rachel's nose traces down over mine and then she snakes her arms around me, pulling me and her together like a demonic jigsaw puzzle. She pecks kisses to my lips, keeping me from gathering my breath. "I love you, Quinn." She whispers. "I love you and I always want to be with you. Tell me you love me."

When I'm finally able to scream, Rachel's hand clamps over my mouth so hard I think she is going to break my jaw off. I seesaw air through my nose, staring into eyes as black as night.

_Don't scream again._ The faceless man requests. _We are trying to have a conversation here and I would hate to think that what happened to your mentor and his friend would have to happen to you._

I don't even breathe after that.

_See,_ he sighs, getting up and pacing somewhere over by the far side of the room. _You remember the image. They didn't. You have an opportunity here, that will allow us both a win. Let's look at it that way. You give me the cipher and I will give you your little play toy._

The eyes above me melt into the familiar ones I stared into all night. Rachel's doppleganger pulls her hand back from my face and then peppers kisses to my ear, where she nibbles gently. I can't help that it makes my heart thunder and a wave of chills shoot down my side.

Stupid body not knowing any better.

"She isn't my play toy." I grind out between my teeth.

The faceless man snaps his fingers, or claps, or does something in recognition of his misconception. _That's right. You are so noble,_ he mocks. _She certainly looked like your play toy last night._

"No."

When I feel that nebulous emptiness of his non-existence face near me, I'm absolutely shocked with horror. I don't know why, but I thought it was a mask. I thought that he had a face, I hoped he had a face. The reality is so much more frightening, especially as it eases into my peripheral vision. _Oh, Quinn. How I love to tease you and watch you squirm like a worm on a hook._

He gestures Rachel off me and she climbs back, eyes locked on mine as she does a very slow backward retreat.

He leans on the bed beside me, and if he had eyes I'm sure they would be looking at the side of my face. _You know, I know exactly what it is you want. I just want to get all the details right as a reward for you giving me that info in your pretty little brain._

A wave of his hand and Rachel is gone. There is a key in the door a moment later, and I'm so grateful that someone is entering I gather up a breath to scream. He snaps, silencing all sound as the air blows through my throat and past paralyzed vocal chords.

_Just wait for it._ The man chides. _Are you always this impatient?_

It's Rachel at the door, dressed in her pant suit from the night before. She is smiling as she drops a bag by the front door. "Hey, baby?" She announces into the room, putting a set of keys on the small table by the door. "I missed you so I wanted to drive up here to see you. The 95 was a nightmare, I'm pretty sure I almost got hit twice getting into line for the toll road. People can't drive to save their life around here."

"I'm just glad you made it in one piece."

It's my own voice and when I see myself shoot into the frame of this horrific movie, I can't watch anymore. Clamping my eyes shut doesn't block the sound of our conversation though, nor does it shut out the monologue of the demonic bastard beside me.

_This is what you want Quinn. The full package. The dedicated, loyal, loving woman who drives out to see you on a whim because she's in love with you._

"I think I did well on my midterm in music history. Though, I'm not so sure about the section that covered the baroque musical styles. I can only listen to so many sixths and eighths and fourths before I can't tell the difference between them any more."

"I'm sorry. I'm sure you did great though."

_What if I could give you this? The authentic real woman that you love, but make it even better?_

"I think I would do better if we got something to eat and I forgot about about this day until two minutes ago when I walked into your home."

_Like, this?_

It sounds like the rewinding of a video tape.

"I think I would feel better if we got something to eat and I could forget about this day by snuggling on the sofa with you."

_Or is this better?_

"-feel better if we drew a bath and made love."

_Oh, I know._

He snaps his fingers. "Let's go out, get something to eat. I wanna play footsies with you under the table."

He laughs raucously. _Actually, I don't know why I'm even flirting with multiple ideas of what you want. I'll just get it myself from the source._

When a cold hand wraps around my throat, I wallop in a breath of air and stare into the buzzing emptiness of the face beside mine. He doesn't squeeze, but instead his hand drifts down, pausing before brushing the blanket down with it. I struggle, or try to, as my heart hammers because I'm pinned, trapped. And he can do anything he wants to do to me.

I don't know what I'm expecting. Rape maybe. I'm certainly not expecting the bone deep pain that suddenly blossoms from my chest and forces all the air out of my lungs. The only thing I can think of is Doctor Schweiger, and how someone carved into his chest.

_Oh Quinn. That isn't what's happening at all. Just relax, you'll thank me in a moment._

Like hell.

_Just like that, yes._

When the pain subsides, he makes a weird almost thoughtful sound in my ear. _You know, I had you pegged differently. I'm almost a little disappointed with how tame you are. Here I expected some ravenous sexual deviant, but sadly no. I liked you so much more before I read your heart like a cheap romance book._

When he snaps his fingers this time, the whole scene shifts. It's no longer my studio apartment, its a house interior. It's the house I always dream about, with the wood beams and the polished floor. There's a puppy chewing a toy by the table. It's a Lab, a fuzzy honey colored Lab, just like I always wanted.

When I go to catch a breath, the lump in my throat makes it suddenly very hard to breathe.

And then I'm there, walking in through the front door. The puppy scrambles from his place to crawl all over me. I'm on my knees, petting him, giving him love because God I want to so much. I never was allowed pets growing up, I want to have a house full of them when I have children.

"Quinn honey, I need a hand in the kitchen."

It's Rachel's voice, a little older, but certainly as beautiful as it has always been. I pat the pooch on the head and the scene shifts.

I'm in the kitchen now, helping Rachel haul a huge pan out of the oven. "How did you get it in here in the first place?" I'm asking confused, as I heft it with her.

"I actually had help from the neighbor kid Danny. He mowed the lawn and put it in the over for me."

Once it's on the stovetop, I clip the oven shut and proceed to invade Rachel's space. She doesn't mind it, as a matter of fact she pulls me into her arms and kisses me until I'm breathless. I watch the trail of my hands as they move over her, down her back, up her arms and then back down. When they frame the sides of a very pregnant belly, I feel so exposed in that moment I literally hear a sob break through the back of my throat.

"Please stop this."

_But it's what you want. _He pleads lightly, playfully. _And I can even throw in the added bonus of you getting her pregnant. _It sounds like a sick game show.

_Aww, come on. Do you have any idea how many lesbians would just die for that chance? It could be a one and done type thing, zip it in, blow one out, the schlemiel would disappear and you can cuddle to your hearts content. Oh! okay, or I could give you a magic word to bring it back again if you want. Who knows maybe she would really get off riding and sucking your c-_

I don't see the inciting action, only the reaction as my tormentor flies halfway across my room in lifeless heap.

"That is quite enough of that." Someone says laughing.

The image of my fantastical dreams of the future evaporate, leaving nothing but the sunwashed kitchenette and TV area in my studio. When a hand touches my shoulder, I'm so scared of who it is I don't care if it's the person just saved me. I just need to get the hell out of harm's way.

I can feel whatever weight was holding me pinned release, and I fly off the bed. I grab for the floor lamp and rip it from the wall as I turn toward whoever it was that saved me.

What I see, doesn't even make sense. Because it's Rachel. "Get back!"

"I'm not moving toward you." She whispers, holding her hands up. "Did you need clothes?"

I look down, I'm naked. Tricky little fox, she is. "I'm fine. We spent the night romping around so I assume you are fine with it too. Don't you dare move a muscle."

Rachel narrows her eyes at me. "You and I were not romping around. I was quite indisposed last night so I promise you, I'm only just now seeing you naked." And with a snap of Rachel's fingers, I'm dressed in jeans and a sweater.

"How did you do that?"

"How or why?"

"Both?"

"Because it's not appropriate for me to stare and we have other more important things to deal with." She points at the figure near me.

It's the first time I realize I'm literally a few feet from that mammoth sized faceless asshole. I glance at Rachel to be certain she isn't moving and then take the lamp and swing it as hard as I can over the head of the demon.

"Beautiful, but totally pointless. Can we please leave now?"

I turn the bent metal lamp at her. "I'm not going anywhere with you, so just leave."

"Yes, you really are. If not by niceness, then by force. Though I promise I won't hurt you."

It's my turn to narrow eyes, and I do so with as much irritation as I can muster. "I will not let you threaten me."

"I'm not threatening you." Rachel moves a step closer, and then fists her hands on her hips. "I'm not even really Rachel, that is the truth. I picked this form because I thought it would be a safe one for you, but I see it's already been exploited."

That gets me, and the panic I feel in my chest grips me to the point of tears. "Is she okay?"

"Yes. She is actually a consenting participant in my plan to rendezvous with you, so please. Let's leave this place while we have time enough to cover our tracks."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

Rachel, or the person wearing her face, looks at me blankly. "I don't really think you can know for sure. It is all about leaps of faith."

When she holds out her hand, I take it.

And everything fragments to pieces around us.

* * *

A/N: oh, boy - now what's gonna happen?


End file.
